


Watson and Holmes: First Encounters

by Tariq Kamal (t_boy)



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 11:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_boy/pseuds/Tariq%20Kamal
Summary: A transhumanist reimagining of Sherlock Holmes' and Watson's first meeting, specifically modeled to resemble the first chapter of “A Study in Scarlet”.





	Watson and Holmes: First Encounters

I was constructed by the foundries of Alsatia, during the 732nd year of it's founding, as part of the police action of the Korpulu, the sector in which it was occupying during that time. My purpose, as medical technician and support drone for the 13th Battalion, and I was granted access to the skill-sets and libraries common to those in my line. The foundry-mother, however, saw a little more potential in me beyond this, and granted me additional volition and tutored me directly on the skills of communication and memetic content creation. This was, according to my developmental records, as an additional bulwark in the event that our battalion's chaplain unit was subverted, and there were no mind-workers nearby. At the time, I had considered this a great honour.

In any case, our first deployment was to a beach-head in Fallax, a planet that, at the time — and still is, at this time of writing — under siege by the forces of the Other. We were informed, as the coffins of our drop-ship were opened, that we were blown off course by an infospheric attack that our countermeasures had not managed to fully deflect, and that we would have to make it through the subsequent thousand kilometres on our own steam. The rest, as you might know from the subsequent news reports, was history.

* * *

I wish I could have said that the subsequent battle and three-day assault was something I could be proud of, but unlike my fellow battle-siblings, I was taken out fairly early in the fighting, per the standard Other offensive protocol. Luckily for me, my central processing core was rescued by Manwë, my dearest friend, who had ripped out the core components from my cranium as my corporeal systems shut down, and then kept my core components as safe as e could manage.

Sadly, my core components _did_ come out worse for wear, as the earlier infospheric attack was a two-staged one, and by the time my brain was secreted into a storage pouch, nanites that had secreted themselves into not only my core systems, but the core systems of all my battle-siblings. The effects of this attack were blunted by our security protocols and by subsequent care, but by the time we were found by medical technicians, it was too late for my fellow combatants. The first to perish was Manwë, beautiful Manwë, with eir twinkling laughter and mischievous ways, eir disdain for authority, and love for tales of love and chivalry. E died, palsied and twitching as the invader shut down eir systems and paralysed em, before consuming eir neural matter. E saved my life, and I could not even say goodbye. All I could do, as I awakened two weeks later and learned of eir sacrifice, suspended in a vat of nutrient fluids as my new body was grown around me, was mourn.

* * *

Manwë might have been able to save my life, but at a terrible cost: the nanites had conspired to begin their attack on my brain's coordination node, and had consumed 80% of it by the time the technicians had managed to stabilize me. So not only had I to mourn the loss of all my battle-siblings, some of whom I had known since birth, but I had to mourn the loss of no longer being able to reconnect to the gestalt that defined my psyche, and allowed me to work with my siblings as one. Normally, this would have been psychologically fatal to those in my line, but the earlier volition and skills I had gained from my foundry mother came to my rescue, once again… although I was not sure, at the time, that it was for the best.

Within a month, I was ambulatory, with a cast-off body chassis donated by the hospice, and was wandering the halls within the Hospitaler facility in orbit around Fallax, administering as much care as I could for those broken and wounded in battle, providing companionship to those who needed it, and helping the Hospitalers whenever necessary. I had seen plenty of death on those three terrible days in Fallax, and I would see more during the next few weeks, before my command granted me leave, in order to see if the nano-robotic treatments to my neo-cerebrum would take, and I could rejoin the fight.

* * *

Alsatia, while home, was too far away for me to return to, and besides, all my kith and kin near me had perished in the battle, while others were too far away. In short, I was as free as sunlight, and could in theory travel to any part of the Collective — or at least any part of the Collective that I could travel, as a “veteran” with an income of 2.8 teraflops could be. Under such circumstances, then, I had decided to gravitate to Victoria, the Prime Orbital, that great recycling vat to which all those with free processing cycles inevitably drained. There, I stayed in the great pleasure-houses of Victory-station, leading a comfortless, empty existence, trying to stave away the feelings of loneliness and craving for communion by spending as freely as much of my income as I had, and considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did my state of finances become that I soon realized that I must either leave for the Outer Oort Cloud to take up ice-mining to cover my debts, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter, I began by checking out of the pleasure houses in which I had subscribed, and to take up my quarters somewhere less pretentious and less expensive.

On the very day that I had come to my conclusion, I was standing in the Criterion, on the Victoria infosphere, when I was pinged by a familiar presence. Accepting the presence, I recognized old Lohengrim, who was an old instructor of mine in Alsatia. The sight of a familiar, if not exactly friendly face in the great roiling maelstrom that is Victoria is as pleasant a thing to a lonely soul missing love and companionship, so I greeted him with such enthusiasm that I was sure he was taken a little aback, for I recalled that there was very little love lost between the both of us when I was under his tutelage. His surprise, however, turned to delight and more than a little amusement, for he too had come from the front-lines, and had his own troubles, though none as dire as mine, for he had a polycule in Victoria, and was spending a few weeks with them before returning back to the fray.

“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” he asked in undisguised wonder, as we both chatted in a private room he had established within his lover's domicile. “You've look like you've gone through hell!”

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time Lohengrim's lover, a tall, taciturn cybernetic organism from the Tesla colonies, materialized home.

Lohengrim nodded gravely, and said, “Losing all you love is a very hard blow indeed, young Watson. I am glad you have recovered as well as you could, considering how such injuries would have been fatal to anyone less-equipped than yourself.”

I nodded, and glanced at Lohengrim's lover as zey began preparing for Lohengrim's repast. “As it is, I have been coping rather unhealthily over the past few weeks,” I said, regretfully. “At the current state of my finances, I'm going to need to look for a comfortable domicile at a reasonable price.”

“Ah, yes,” said Lohengrim, nodding gravely. “Victoria does have a bit of a housing crisis at this point. I would offer you lodging with some members of my polycule, but… well.”

I laughed, politely declining. As much as Lohengrim's presence was a great comfort, my time under his tutelage was too close to the past, and it had felt inappropriate for him and for myself. Besides, I had no desire to burden him nor his loved ones by existing desultorily around them, dealing with emotional wounds and scars I barely knew how to deal with.

* * *

In any case, I made my excuses, and spent the next few hours cruising through the housing services provided by Victoria, finding nothing fitting my requirements. Resigned, and more than a little despairing, I decided to disconnect from the public connection that I used to explore the infosphere, and decided that a walk would be just the thing to calm my nerves.

I was unsure how long I was walking, but I eventually came to a small chapel, dedicated to no particular deity, at the spin-ward side of the station. In it, I sat on one of the pews that could accommodate my frame, and contemplated my situation.

I was under no illusions, dear reader, of my emotional and mental state at this time. The technicians had warned, even with the additional advantages granted by my forge-mother during my formative years, that suicide was a probable outcome, even years after the initial injury. The mind-states of my kith and kin are tuned towards coming together, and to unlearn both ingrained and indoctrinated impulses required, at very best, the love and care of those who had grown up with me, none who were near. I would need to reforge new bonds, deep ones, but there were none who could provide me that, so far, that I had seen. My time in the pleasure houses were certainly, of course, pleasurable… but they were meaningless and empty, and did not fill the gnawing ache of my heart. And this, on top of my lack of financial stability, and now, with the threat of homelessness… I was lost.

* * *

It was then that a short, slender droid of a bipedal model padded in quietly, made their way to the altar of the chapel, and knelt quietly for a few moments, before standing up and turning to leave. Something must have caught his eye about my presence, however, and he quietly came to my side, and sent a short burst of code through radio, checking to see if I needed any help. I assented, and told him a little of my situation, telling him a little of my time in the station, as well as telling him a little of my current struggle with accommodation.

The droid listened intently, and looked thoughtful as I completed my story.

“Well, there are staterooms available for rent at the Baker sector, but they are too pricey for a single occupant,” he said, finally, after some thought. “They can spaciously fit two, but near the warehousing facilities. I hope you are not too partial to the sounds of machinery running at all hours?”

I said I did not mind. After all, I was an army unit. What's the sound of machinery to someone who grew around the din of a combat foundry?

“Lovely. I generally have a nano-forge and chemical synthesis cradle active at most times of the day— purely civilian spec, I assure you, but sometimes their by-products are a little unpleasant for carbon-base sophonts like yourself. Would that be a problem?”

I shrugged. “Keep me away from the more immediately fatal ones and I shall be all right.”

“Hum! Let me see… what are my other shortcomings? Like you, I am coping with separation from a gestalt, so I may be seized by a sort of black depression, such as yours. I generally find that so long as we don't get into each other's hair and watch each other for danger signs, things will be all right. What of you? It's just as well that the two of us confess the worst of ourselves rather than find out when we live together.”

I laughed, my spirits lifting a little, from the absurd cross-examination. “I have high power requirements, because I rent my processing time to several scientific efforts off-system,” I said, ruefully. “They pay well, but are often not profitable, and I've yet to be eligible for release yet. I also object to loud rows due to my experiences in combat, and those recent experiences also mean I keep abominable hours. I have some other vices, but that's it right now.”

“Hmm,” said the droid. “Do you include musical instruments in your category of rows?”

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “I'm a music aficionado myself, though I've yet to see many live performances—”

“Oh, that's all right, then,” he said, laughing merrily. “If you don't object to the facilities, this arrangement might be perfectly adequate. Come, let us contact the owner of the property and see if they are amenable.”

Nodding, I stood up, and followed my new companion out of the chapel, and into the light.

* * *

I would not have known it at the time, but this encounter with the being I eventually learned was named Holmes, and to my honour, I would eventually call a dear and close friend, was the beginnings of what was going to be the most adventurous part of my life, and definitely the impetus for my long road to recovery.

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, all I have about this idea is as I've posted it in some places:
> 
> “I just had this idea of a transhumanist Sherlock Holmes story where Watson is literally a combat-grade medical droid, the Holmes brothers are a line of famously-faulty artificial intellects (Mycroft being a sedentary artilect, Sherlock a decommissioned mobile investigation bot) with transhuman levels of insight, yet not bound by any of the existing polities, so beneath the notice yet equal to the Great Minds, and all the investigating officers under Scotland Yard are basically avatars of the Great Minds with differing levels of autonomy and initiative. It's... surprisingly a fruitful line of thought. Also Watson as more a Sam Spade but with better friends and communication skills.”
> 
> Some of these ideas have come through more or less as I've wanted them, though I think Watson could be more grizzled and cynical, but it didn't seem right. I have no idea if I'm in any position to develop this further, TBH. Let me know if you like it, though!


End file.
